


The Gray Between the Black and White

by megsblackfire



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Spectrum, CyclonusxTailgate, MegatronxProwl, Multi, ProwlxJazz Pre-relationship, mature themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 04:18:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3367532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megsblackfire/pseuds/megsblackfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ficlets about Transformers characters in the Asexual Spectrum. Additional tags will be added with each new chapter. No pairing is off-limits. Prompts are welcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's a Start

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The author does not own the Transformers characters or brand. This is done purely for fun.

Prowl glanced up at the mech grinning at him on the other side of his desk and did his best not to roll his optics. Jazz was persistent, he would give the fragger that. Very few others could claim such things, especially where he was concerned. Most gave up their pitiful attempts at courting after he failed to drop to his knees and agree to whatever sexual favour they wanted.

He knew that most mechs were only interested in him for bragging rights. They all wanted to boast about having made him “relax” in a way that no one else had. It was, like everything else concerning his comrades, a spike-measuring contest. It was all about how many people they have fragged, where they fragged, how often, and other nonsense. He wouldn’t mind it that much; it was a coping mechanism like anything else; but they kept trying to drag him into their numbers game. None of them stopped to even consider that he wasn’t interested.

No, in their optics, he was so uptight that someone else had to show him how to unwind. He was obviously too proud to just ask someone to “show him a good time”. No, they had to convince him with their magical spikes that could make anyone want them and cure any sort of disinterest.

Jazz was trying a different approach. He seemed to genuinely care about what Prowl was feeling. Somehow, being asked if he was in need of entertainment didn’t seem quite so annoying when it was coming from the saboteur. It was refreshing, but he highly doubted Jazz’s sincerity. He wouldn’t be the first to appear sweet until he made it clear that he wasn’t interested.

“Jazz, what are you hoping to accomplish here?” Prowl asked as he moved his datapads away from Jazz’s wiggling digits.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Prowler,” Jazz lied with a grin.

Prowl shuttered his optics. “You have come into my office every day for the last few months and made poorly concealed advances with every intention of being invited into my quarters for a night,” he moved the datapads closer to him. “Either be forward with your intentions or leave. I don’t have time to play nice with mechs that drag their feet.”

Jazz’s grin grew wider. “Aw, Prowler, I didn’t think you cared.”

Prowl narrowed his optics and returned to his work. Jazz leant across his desk and reached for the datapad he was working on. Prowl grabbed his wrist and pushed it away without looking up.

“I thought you and I would make a cute pair,” Jazz laughed. “Black and white on black and white.”

Prowl snorted. “It would be an open relationship.”

“Ooh, I didn’t know you were interested in polyamory, Prowler,” Jazz leaned in closer. “What other secrets do you have?”

“The status would not be to my benefit, Jazz,” Prowl replied smoothly. “It is your own. I am aware of your…appetites.”

“Aw, I could learn to only need one mech,” Jazz soothed as he patted Prowl’s hand.

Prowl looked up at Jazz and shuttered his optics slowly. “You would need to learn how to need no mech,” he told him.

Jazz’s smile dropped into a frown. “What? That doesn’t make any sense, Prowler.”

“Doesn’t it?” Prowl asked. “If you have every intention of remaining solely with me, you would have to satisfy your appetites yourself.”

Jazz stared at him. Prowl could see the wheels turning in the saboteur’s helm. He could see the faint movement of his optical ridges pulling in close to each other as he puzzled everything together. When the understanding dawned on his face, Prowl wanted to laugh. He had always enjoyed the look of shock and disbelief that flashed across his suitors’ faces. They never were expecting that possibility.

“Oh you…you’re one of those mechs,” he murmured.

“You say that like I’m diseased,” Prowl growled.

“Well, there just aren’t that many of you,” Jazz offered.

“There are more than you think,” Prowl said calmly. “Most mechs just choose to ignore our existence.”

Jazz lifted his hands to placate him. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by that,” he soothed. “I just…wow.”

There was a moment of silence. Prowl watched Jazz squirm under his gaze. Part of him felt bad, but Jazz was the one that was so eager to court him. They barely knew each other and Jazz decided that he was the perfect berthmate. If he wasn’t interested in a relationship outside of fragging-rights then it was his own fault.

“So, open relationship, huh?” Jazz laughed awkwardly. “That’s nice of you to think of someone else’s needs.”

“It’s a talent,” Prowl replied dryly.

Jazz pulled his hands back to his chest and rubbed at his neck. “I deserved that,” he murmured. “But…you know, I’m not after you for a quick frag. Why would I put so much time in for that sort of pay-off?”

“I’ve had a mech pursue me for a year with only that thought in mind,” Prowl replied. “I don’t speak to him anymore. Considering I ripped his voicebox out, he can’t speak anymore.”

Jazz gave him a look before he blinked. “Okay then,” he nodded. “So, I’m going to leave this here for today and come back tomorrow when I’m not about to spring a leak in fear.”

He placed a small package on Prowl’s desk and backed away slowly. Prowl watched him leave and noticed the smile creep across Jazz’s face before he slipped out the door. Shaking his head, Prowl picked the package up and slowly opened it.

There was a small box of candies under the wrappings. The box wasn’t tampered with, but the label was a Vosian specialty. While Prowl knew that the reputation of Vos was grossly over-exaggerated, he was wary of the box. He turned it over and read the ingredients, looking for anything that would place the candies in the category of aphrodisiacs rather than treats.

Everything looked clean, so he cautiously popped one into his mouth. The taste was smooth and delicious and the candy melted in his mouth, covering his glossa with flavour. He swallowed with a small, happy flutter of his doorwings and set the candies to the side to eat while he worked.

When he saw Jazz the next morning at the energon dispenser, he nodded in greeting. Jazz sidled up close and grinned at him.

“Did you like the gift?” he asked.

“I did; thank you,” Prowl nodded.

“So?”

Prowl looked at Jazz. That smile got larger and he lowered his visor just enough to let his optic ridges poke out over the top. He waggled them enthusiastically.

“What do you think?”

“Concerning your abysmal courting tactics?” Prowl asked with a smirk. “I would have had a mountain of candies by now if you were serious about this. You wouldn’t have waited as long as you did to start giving me gifts. And they were high quality candies; I suspect you’ve had them before Vos was leveled to the ground. If anything, those candies were not part of your original plans but rather an attempt to placate me after our discussion.” He leaned in close to Jazz and smiled a little bit more. “If you want to court me, Jazz, you will have to step up your game.”

Jazz stared at him. “Is that a challenge?” he asked in surprise.

“Maybe,” Prowl shrugged as he straightened up and turned to walk away. “If you can’t figure it out, then you really aren’t worth my time.”

Jazz made a spluttering noise behind him, but Prowl kept walking. By the time he made it to his office after his morning rounds there was a note and a decanter of refined high grade sitting on his desk.

The note read “You’re on — Jazz”.

Prowl smirked as he took a seat behind his desk and started working. Even if this didn’t work out; which he highly suspected that it wouldn’t; it would be amusing to see what Jazz did to court him. He wouldn’t keep anything too outlandish and would tell Jazz when he stepped over the line of acceptability.

It would be a fun exercise in creativity, in any case.


	2. To Accommodate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cyclonus tries to accommodate his partner's desires around his own injuries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The author does not own the Transformers brand or characters. This is purely for entertainment.
> 
> Thank you everyone who read and enjoyed the first chapter. I was really nervous about posting this due to the content. The response has been positive and I'm happy to hear how much people enjoyed reading the chapter.
> 
> As such, this chapter has officially bumped up the rating of the story simply because of the content.

“Am I boring you?”

Cyclonus looked up at Tailgate and frowned. “Excuse me?”

Tailgate stopped moving and sat miserably between his legs. “You aren’t responding,” Tailgate murmured. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Part of him immediately felt guilty. It was a learned reaction from a time he tried to move past. Tailgate was helping with that. Reaching forward, he gently ran his fingers over Tailgate’s helm.

“You are not boring me,” he soothed. “I would not agree to interfacing if I did not want to.”

“But you aren’t responding,” Tailgate huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “Usually I can get you to purr.” Tailgate’s visor shifted and he scooted forward. “Is, um, that old wound, um…?”

Cyclonus paused and ran a quick scan of his systems. His frame was littered with old wounds; some from the war, some from campaigns before the war began, and others from a time he was trying to recover from. Tailgate was asking about one of the wounds from the last category.

His interface array was a mess. Signals didn’t always get through or would be lost shortly after activation. He never bothered getting it repaired since he didn’t have a partner at the time, but it certainly made things a touch more difficult with Tailgate. He was impressed by the minibot’s understanding of the situation and lack of judgement. It was reassuring since everyone else tried to tell him how very broken he was.

He was asexual, but he did enjoy interfacing with his partner if they wanted to. Most mechs he knew tried to say that he clearly wasn’t asexual because he enjoyed interfacing. Others tried to pat his shoulder and tell him that he should speak to Rung about it; they seemed to forget that he already was talking to Rung about things that were actual problems and not about a lack of sexual attraction to anyone that was only a problem for them. Galv—his last partner had not understood and that had led to most of his problems now.

Tailgate was different. He hadn’t understood at first, but rather than act indignant, he had asked for a way to learn about it. Then they talked more, set the boundaries, and actually enjoyed each other’s company.

His systems showed an issue with the lining of his valve and he frowned. “There is a problem,” he confirmed. “My apologies.”

“Don’t apologize,” Tailgate soothed. “Not your fault. We can do something else. Like, um….”

Cyclonus lifted an optic ridge before he reached down to play between Tailgate’s legs. Tailgate squealed in surprise before he started laughing. He scooted forward and wiggled contently as Cyclonus worked his magic.

“I will talk with Ratchet tomorrow about repairs,” Cyclonus said as Tailgate went limp and groaned in pleasure.

“S’okay,” Tailgate sighed happily as his hips moved slowly. “I’n’t mind.”

Cyclonus chuckled softly. He knew that Tailgate wouldn’t mind; he understood better than most people who had lived longer that he had. Regardless, he wanted to accommodate him. Interfacing didn’t mean much to him, but it was important to Tailgate. His partner enjoyed interfacing and he was more than willing to accommodate that desire.


	3. Not Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet helps soothe the fears of a young patient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> G1 Universe Alteration: Either the war never happened or Megatron and Optimus managed to come to an agreement of some sort.  
> Disclaimer: The author does not own the Transformers brand or characters. This is purely for fun.  
> This chapter might hit closer to home for a lot of readers.

“Is there something wrong with me?”  
  
Ratchet looked at the youngling sitting on his medical berth. “What do you mean, kiddo?” he asked gently. The youngling had been unusually quiet the entire medical exam, refusing to look him in the optic unless he absolutely needed to.  
  
“Is there something wrong with me?” the youngling repeated. “Carrier keeps talking to Coder and crying.”  
  
Ratchet frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Bluestreak,” he soothed. “You’re in peak condition. No viruses or defragmentation errors. You’re perfectly healthy.”  
  
“Then why does my Carrier always look at me like there’s something wrong with me?” Bluestreak whimpered. “Coder too. They act like something’s incredibly wrong with me.”  
  
“Do you think there’s something wrong with you?” Ratchet asked with a frown.

He was going to have to have a talk with Bluestreak’s creators. There was no reason to be acting like this. Bluestreak was an intelligent and incredibly able young mech. Given the right opportunities, he could do just about anything he set his processor to.  
  
Bluestreak looked down at his feet. “Sometimes,” he murmured. “Sometimes I think I’m broken.”  
  
“Why is that?” Ratchet asked gently as he pulled a chair over. “Why do you think you’re broken?”

Bluestreak was usually very bubbly and talkative. This somberness was unsettling. Ratchet hadn’t said anything about it; he thought that it was simply something going on in the youngling’s personal life. There wasn’t anything he could do to help with bullies at school or advice for talking to a crush.  
  
“Because I don’t want to…be intimate with anyone,” Bluestreak sniffled. His blue optics welled up with tears. “That’s all anyone ever talks about and they give me dirty looks when I tell them I’m not interested. I don’t want anyone touching me. I don’t want to interface with anyone. I just…I just want to be left alone. I don’t want to do anything like that with anyone! I just want to be friends and do stupid things after school.”  
  
Ratchet smiled reassuringly. “That’s perfectly normal, Bluestreak,” he soothed. “A lot of mechs aren’t interested in their peers. When the right Cybertronian comes along, you’ll know.”  
  
“No, Ratchet, I don’t want to interface,” Bluestreak repeated. “Ever.”  
  
“A lot of younglings say that at this age,” Ratchet soothed. “You aren’t the first. The right person will come along and then you’ll….”  
  
“I’m asexual!” Bluestreak cried out.

He covered his mouth in horror and tears started falling from his optics. Ratchet felt his spark constrict in his chest as his patient curled up on himself and started shaking. That made so much sense; he had always suspected it, but saying it would have caused problems.

Bluestreak’s creators were incredibly old-fashioned; he wouldn’t be surprised if they were trying to arrange a bonding ceremony between Bluestreak and some other politician’s offspring. They couldn’t force their sparkling to mate and produce offspring and any sort of knowledge on the subject would erase any chance of creating an alliance.  
  
“Ssh, Blue, there’s nothing wrong with you,” Ratchet soothed as he reached out and gently squeezed the youngling’s knee. “You aren’t broken. You’re fine.”  
  
Bluestreak rubbed at his face. “No one else seems to think so,” he sniffled. “They…they always tell me that I’m just making things up. They all say that they could change my mind. They scare me, Ratchet; it’s like they aren’t even listening to me!”  
  
Bluestreak covered his face and continued sobbing. Ratchet frowned and shifted to sit on the berth beside the smaller mech. He was a little surprised when Bluestreak twisted and burrowed into his side, but he just rubbed gently between his doorwings.  
  
“Ignore them,” Ratchet replied. “If you feel scared or unsafe, let one of your teachers know. They have to do something. If they decide to do nothing, come get me and I’ll step in, okay?”  
  
Bluestreak nodded and sniffled. “Why are you the only one that cares, Ratchet?” he asked quietly.  
  
Ratchet shrugged a shoulder. “Because I’m the only one that knows that mental health goes hand in hand with physical health a lot of the time,” he replied. “I want you to be safe, happy, and healthy, Bluestreak.”  
  
Bluestreak smiled up at him and rubbed his optics. “Thank you, uncle,” he murmured shyly. “I should get to my next class.”  
  
“Remember what I said,” Ratchet replied as Bluestreak hopped off the berth and started towards the door.

Bluestreak nodded happily and vanished down the hallway.  
  
Sighing as he stood up, Ratchet rubbed his optics. He was going to have to have a word with his brother and his mate. There was no way that they could continue hurting Bluestreak. His brother was an aft, but that didn’t excuse him from the fact that his melodrama was negatively effecting his sparkling. One good smack and a medical journal explaining Bluestreak’s sexuality should fix him a little bit. It wouldn’t help with the arranged bonding situation that he knew his brother’s mate was trying to set up, but there was nothing that could be done about that.  
  
And he swore to Primus, if his brother so much as made a comment about never having grand-sparklings, he was going to beat him.


	4. Content

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rung reflects on his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Author does not own the Transformers characters or brand. Everything is purely for fun.
> 
> Character is an asexual aromantic

Rung lived to help others make it through their lives. He didn’t judge, he forgave easily; usually; and he was always the strong shoulder that anyone could use to cry on. His position on the _Lost Light_ was a complicated one, but he was always eager to take on a new challenge.

He was everyone’s friend. He was their councillor, too, which did cause some problems. Some friendships were superficial and only helped others to open up about their problems and accept his advice and assistance. Others were much deeper. Some saw him only as a councillor and nothing else; he was fine with that.

He was always there to help. That was his purpose. It wasn’t always easy; Whirl gave him one hard time after another, but it was understandable given his past; but he would rather enjoy his accomplishments and learn from his mistakes. He was careful and kind and, most of all, observant.

Which was why he was quick to stop a relationship from going beyond professional or platonic boundaries. He was used to having mechs hitting on him; he supposed that it came with the territory of being “cute”. It was when the flirting started to get far too direct that he would put a stop to everything. He didn’t need anything outside of friendship. He was happy with how everything was.

He knew that some mechs whispered that he needed a companion. Those whispers chased him everywhere; they chased everyone everywhere, he knew that too. He wasn’t unique in this instance and he didn’t let it get to him. They were just trying to help him in return for his non-stop attempt to help them. He appreciated their concern, but knew that it was unnecessary.

“I’m happy with my friends,” he explained to Tailgate when he was asked about it. “I don’t desire any other relationship.”

“But don’t you get lonely?” Tailgate asked.

“Sometimes,” Rung shrugged, “but I usually seek out a good friend and the loneliness passes.”

He wasn’t sure if Tailgate understood completely. Tailgate was still very new to the universe in spite of his age, but he always tried to be understanding. It was an endearing trait, one that got him noticed by quite a few mechs.

Others weren’t always so understanding. Swerve was a non-stop source of annoyance on the matter. No matter how many times Rung politely turned down his attempts at “blind dates”, there was always someone else that Swerve wanted to introduce him to.

“I’m sure you’ll like this one,” Swerve promised over and over again. “Please, just one date?”

“No, Swerve,” he would reply. “I’m not interested, but thank you for the offer.”

Some were very forward. Skids and Getaway had both received stern lectures for not respecting boundaries. He had reported them to Ultra Magnus when they refused to stop. Brig time seemed to be the only thing that got through to them. He didn’t like that it had come to that, but he needed them to understand that he was being serious and not playing coy.

When it came down to it, he couldn’t complain. Yes, there were times where he wanted to scream at his comrades and demand to know why they were so dense, but he would have had those days regardless. He always preferred to look at the positives in a situation. He had friends and colleagues that respected him and valued his time and opinion. He never had the same thing happen twice in one day. There was always something new and exciting and terrifying to look forward to the next day.

Yes, all in all, Rung was very content with his life. It wasn't perfect, but he knew how to make it work.


	5. New Sensation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl had never felt this kind of attraction before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The author does not own the Transformers characters or brand. Everything is written for fun.
> 
> Character is demisexual; explanation further on. Chapter not tied into previous chapters. Separate universe. War never happened.

Prowl had never been interested in interfacing. It wasn’t something he found all that engaging or desirable. If anything, everything just felt like a huge chore instead of the “bonding exercise” that his friends tried to tell him about.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried it either. He’d had a few lovers in his life. He’d always try to enjoy himself; he just always found that he couldn’t. It didn’t help that it was always the deal-breaker for his lovers. They always complained about how he didn’t try enough and that they couldn’t be committed to someone that wasn’t enjoying themselves. It didn’t matter what he felt about the situation; being pressured to enjoy something he really didn’t like in order to keep someone that he was affectionate for played havoc with his mental state. It never did.

He had just accepted that he would only have deeply-affectionate friendships. He wanted a romantic partner; or partners if they wanted that, he really wasn’t that hard to get along with; but that niggling sexual aspect would always destroy those dreams. No one seemed to want him for what he was willing to give.

And then the gladiator walked into his life and everything just changed. Not immediately change mind you, but change none-the-less.

The massive Tarnian was a friend of the Chief Enforcer, a budding political and philosophical figure that was struggling to keep his head above water. His competition was fierce and unforgiving, much different than the small movements he had helped organize on the mining colonies. He was unsophisticated and blunt, wielding his glossa as fiercely as he wielded a sword or pickaxe.

Orion had introduced him in the usual fashion; “this is Prowl; he’s asexual”; but rather than the forced politeness that other mechs pushed on him, Megatron had smiled. He had made a comment about a “friend like that” and never brought it up again unless Prowl mentioned something. It was refreshing and incredibly attractive.

The first few days after meeting him, Prowl had thought that it was simply him latching onto the first mech he met that was treating him decently for once. It was an embarrassing reaction and one that made him feel incredibly alone. How pathetic was he that he started falling for the first mech that treated him nice? Even more pathetic; the first mech to treat him right was a competitor in a barely-legal bloodsport?

The dates started shortly after that. They were simple at first; a group of colleagues off to the local bar for drinks after a rough week at work or a dinner with his entire unit. Then Megatron invited him to a poetry slam that hadn’t been a total disaster even though all of the poetry was in Tarnian and Prowl didn’t understand a word of what was being said. Then came the solo lunch dates, dinner dates, walks after work, and long conversations at Orion’s apartment where Megatron was staying that found them waking up in chairs at the dining room table.

The first kiss made his chest hurt. The good kind of hurt. Megatron’s smile made it hard for him to think straight. He was better at work where distractions were all around, but when it was just them he would just stare at Megatron. It only made the giant smile more and start a wonderful cycle until Megatron leant in to kiss him.

“I’m in love with him,” Prowl murmured to Chromedome as they sat on his couch watching a movie that Rewind had rented for them.

“Aw!” Rewind laughed and pretended to swoon in Chromedome’s lap. “Our little officer is growing up!”

“And what happens when he asks the inevitable?”  Chromedome asked as he tapped Rewind’s nose.

“Way to kill the moment,” Rewind huffed. “Can’t let him have his epiphany with poking the awkward stuff, can you?”

“It’s a legitimate question,” Chromedome grumbled.

“We’ve talked about it, a little,” Prowl rubbed his neck. “Mostly in regards to his friend, but he doesn’t treat it like a tragedy.”

“That might be because it’s his friend and not him,” Chromedome shrugged.

“Domey, the mech been taking Prowl out to dinner and walking him home at night without expecting to be invited into the house even after they make out on the doorstep,” Rewind shook his head. “I think he gets the ‘interfacing isn’t going to happen’ aspect of Prowl.”

Prowl chewed on his lip. This was the hard part. Chromedome was his best friend; had been for a very long time; but the mech was quick to judge everything. He didn’t want “The Look”, but he had to tell someone. He would explode otherwise!

“That’s sort of the issue I’m having,” Prowl murmured as he stared at his feet. “I…I want to.”

There was silence; the movie was still going, but his friends were quiet. He was too scared to look, not even when Rewind shifted in Chromedome’s lap.

“Chromedome, open the blinds; I think I just saw a bolt-swine fly past the house,” Rewind finally chirped.

If Rewind wasn’t so tiny, Prowl might have hit him with the cushion he had between his doorwings.

“So you aren’t asexual,” Chromedome commented.

“Ugh! STOP THAT!” Rewind snapped. Prowl looked up at the soft clang of metal on metal as Rewind gave Chromedome’s chest a soft whap. “He _was_ asexual. Now he’s something that the young bots call ‘demisexual’.”

“Care to explain?” Prowl asked.

Rewind shook his head playfully. “Here’s how it works; you don’t feel any sexual attraction unless there’s a deep emotional bond formed.”

“I’ve had partners before,” Prowl pointed out.

“Ya, but was the trust there?” Rewind bobbed his head. “You loved them, sure, but they always made it clear that you had to put out or they were gone. You couldn’t trust them; you couldn’t connect with them enough to actually look at them and say ‘yah, I’d totally be down to bumpin’ panels with them’.”

Prowl felt heat pool in his cheeks and Chromedome covered his face in exasperation. Rewind had no filter.

“Should I tell him?” Prowl asked nervously.

“Sure,” Rewind nodded happily. “I think you should! I mean, it doesn’t mean that you want to frag him this very second! You just have to let him know that if this works out, you’d be happy to interface. On your terms, naturally.”

“Naturally,” Prowl rolled his optics. “Because everything has to be on my schedule.”

“Dude, our entire social life revolves around whether or not Domey’s up to dealing with people after work,” Rewind laughed. “If the mech loves you and cares about you, he’ll be ready to wait until you’re ready. Trust me on that.”

“I guess I don’t have much choice in the matter,” Prowl sighed.

A cushion bounced off his helm and he glanced at Chromedome. They both cracked their knuckles before pouncing on the much smaller minibot and started to tickle him until he screamed for mercy around laughter and tears.

* * *

 

Thinking back, Prowl was happy that he’d taken Rewind’s advice. Megatron hadn’t acted relieved or excited when he let him know that interfacing was definitely a possibility now. He just nodded and asked to talk about it. He understood. He didn’t push or pry or do anything to hurry their relationship along afterwards.

The first time they interfaced was a disaster. It was terrible for both of them; the size difference was new and…well, it was best chalked up to inexperience and never looked at again unless to laugh at. It wasn’t perfect afterwards, but Prowl found himself enjoying it more.

Not because he liked the interfacing; although, he would admit that Megatron knew how to make him feel good in a way that didn’t make him want to be sick afterwards; but rather because Megatron never pushed. Even better, when Prowl asked to stop, he didn’t make a big deal about it. He just nodded in understanding and stopped long enough to make sure Prowl was alright before going to finish by himself. Megatron never tried to make him feel guilty, even if he really wanted to finish with Prowl. There was never a blame game or passive-aggressive comments.

There was just love and affection. It was everything that he wanted.

“Love you,” Prowl murmured as he snuggled against Megatron’s warm plating.

“Love you too,” Megatron smiled against his chevron as he pulled him close. “Sweet dreams.”

Prowl let out a soft purr of contentment. It would never get better than this.


	6. Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl comes to a startling realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The author does not own The Transformers brand or characters. Everything is made for fun.
> 
> I wrote fluff. Short fluff.
> 
> Sequel to It's A Start

Jazz set the cube of energon down on Prowl’s desk. Prowl glanced at it over the top of the datapad he was reading and smirked to himself. The cube was tied with a red ribbon and had a little card stuck to the front. The tag read “To Prowl From your Jazzy-bear” and had a little spark drawn around it.

It was adorable. Jazz had been adorable. Prowl was so proud of how mature he was being about everything. He was polite and considerate and didn’t push his boundaries past what was acceptable. It was such a nice change.

He was enjoying it. Every little thing that Jazz did, every joke and smile and gentle touch made him feel better. It didn’t matter if they were closed in from all sides by Decepticons; Jazz somehow made the situation seem less bleak.

Reaching for the energon cube, Prowl nodded his thanks. Jazz smiled and leant on the desk, watching him while he read and sipped the energon cube. It was wonderful. It was such a wonderful moment and Prowl felt his spark pulse happily.

He froze. His optics snapped to Jazz. He evaluated the weight of the objects in his hand and then whipped the datapad at Jazz’s helm.

“You slagger!” he huffed as Jazz ducked. “You slagging little piece of slag!”

“Hey, what did I do?” Jazz whined as he peeked over the edge of the desk between them.

“You are terrible, did you know that?” Prowl demanded as he sat back in his chair and covered his face. He could feel himself growing hot and he did his best to keep his doorwings level.

“How?” Jazz whined. “I’ve been really good! Primus himself doesn’t have anything on me!”

“You know what you did!” Prowl huffed as he peeked out at Jazz. “You made me fall in love with you, you frack-head!”

Jazz was silent before he slid his way onto the desk and grinned at him. “Oh, I did, did I?”

Prowl covered his face again. “If I wasn’t afraid of wasting this energon, I’d throw it at you,” he growled.

“So fierce,” Jazz teased.

He ducked the next datapad and ran cackling from the room. Prowl fumed and pouted, sipping his enerogn. Stupid Jazz and his adorableness and his nice smile.


	7. Here For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz helps Prowl through a rough patch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The author does not own The Transformers brand or characters. This is all for fun.
> 
> Continuation of chapter 6

Jazz backed himself against the wall and stared at the mess. He hadn’t expected that sort of reaction from Prowl. Prowl was calm and collected, even a little bit snarky and cynical. He was not explosive and unpredictable and he certainly didn’t flip a table just because Prime refused to give him control over the battleplans for Tyger Pax.

“Should I be scared?” Jazz asked.

“Frag off, Jazz,” Prowl snarled as he turned on him. “I don’t need your sass.”

Jazz lifted his hands, watching the mech he was courting with apprehension. Prowl was shaking, his wings were held high over his head, and Jazz could hear his armor plating rattling together.

“Prowl…Prime isn’t doubting your abilities,” he soothed. “You’re his top tactician; he trusts your judgement.”

“Trusts my judgement,” Prowl mocked. “Yes, he certainly does. He trusts it enough to CHANGE my battleplans constantly to meet some idiotic desire to be a HERO or to let some other soldier be a hero. He trusts it enough to refuse my requests to remove unnecessary movements from battleplans. He trusts my judgement enough to _forbid me from interfering with the battleplans for what could be the most important battle to date_. Yes. He trusts me so deeply, Jazz.”

Jazz smiled in spite of himself. It was so wrong; Prowl was irate and ready to kill him and he was smiling. But how could he not? Prowl was so passionate, even over something as horrible and terrible as calculating the amount of casualties a thousand different scenarios could cause. He was going to get punched but it was so worth it.

“He does trust you, Prowl,” Jazz reiterated as he stepped closer. “He does. But you’re only one mech on his council; he has a lot of other voices to listen to.”

“None of them are tacticians! They’re soldiers. All they care about is how many Decepticons that they can kill! That is ALL THEY CARE ABOUT. They completely disregard the fact that the Decepticons are Cybertronians. They forget that they had lives and families before this war happened. They forget that our soldiers are untrained and so close to cracking that they might just never wake up! They don’t care; they just want some stupid glory and to have their names written down for future generations to swoon over.” Prowl offlined his optics and his wings fell. “They don’t stop and think about what they’re doing. They don’t care about our soldiers. They don’t care about you or me or anything outside of stroking their inflated egos.”

Jazz closed the distance between them and hugged Prowl close. Prowl accepted the comfort and clung to him. He didn’t sob loudly, but Jazz could hear the soft whimpers emanating from his intended’s engines. He rubbed between Prowl’s doorwings and nuzzled him gently.

He could understand Prowl’s frustration. Very few on Optimus Prime’s council appreciated what he did either. Now wasn’t the time for that though; Prowl didn’t want to hear that. He just needed comfort and acceptance.

He waited for Prowl’s whimpers to subside before he kissed Prowl’s cheek. “Let’s get your office cleaned up,” he murmured. “We’ll think of a good counter-argument while we work and then find Prime.”

“His mind’s made up,” Prowl grumbled. “But thank you. I appreciate the assistance, Jazz.”

Jazz smiled and then froze as Prowl kissed him on the lips. He stared at the slightly taller mech as Prowl pulled away and lifted his upturned desk back to its feet. His platting rattled happily before he bent down and started picking up all of Prowl’s desk-tidies.

That was a step in the best direction ever.


	8. Tickles Cure Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rodimus was insensitive. Nautica got upset. Brainstorm will cure it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author does not own The Transformers licence. It is all done in fun.
> 
> Primary character is asexual.
> 
> Edit: Special thanks to KinesisBoomer for the prompt.   
> I just needed fluff. There's no other reason. Just fluff.

Tickles Cure Everything

 

Nautica stormed over to her berth and threw herself facedown onto it. She let out a frustrated scream as Brainstorm dropped into a chair.

“If I have to defend my sexuality one more time to that jerk, I’m going to hurt someone,” she wailed.

“You’re surprised that he doesn’t believe you?” Brainstorm snickered. “The mech screams ‘self-righteous afthat’ from three miles away.”

“You aren’t helping,” she huffed and whipped a pillow at his head. “I’m trying to be nice and he just…ARGH!”

“Yah, you get used to that,” Brainstorm smiled as he fluffed the pillow between his hands.

“How can he lead a ship if he’s acting like that?” she demanded as she rolled over to stare at the ceiling. “Honestly, that is terrible leadership skills. Megatron didn’t even say anything! He just shrugged!”

“Pretty sure one of his commanding officers is asexual,” Brainstorm mused. “Soundwave, I believe.”

“So why didn’t he shut Rodimus up?” she pouted. “I’m so sick of people saying slag like that.”

“Aren’t we all?” Brainstorm shrugged before he pounced on her. “I mean, it’s not like everyone has the same sexuality or something.”

Nautica squeaked in alarm as Brainstorm landed on her. She had a whole moment to wonder what the slag he was doing before she started laughing. His fingers dug into her sides and started tickling her.

“No! No that’s cheeeeeating!” she squealed helplessly as she wiggled to get free. “Stormy! Stormy! NO!”

“Yes, all the tickles for Nautica,” he teased as he continued tickling her. “All the tickles for my sweet little asexy Nautica.”

“I hate you!” she squealed as she grabbed a pillow and started hitting him with it. “Stop that! NO!”

Brainstorm continued making nonsense remarks, ignoring her pillow defence. She wiggled and squealed, trying to escape his tickling fingers. And then they both fell off the bed with shouts of surprise.

“Ow,” Nautica whined around a mouthful of Brainstorm’s elbow.

“Ow,” Brainstorm agreed.

They sat up slowly, untangling themselves and checking for lumps.

“I’m good,” Nautica chirped.

“I have dents where you bit me,” Brainstorm teased as he waved his elbow at her. “See? You gave me an owie.”

Nautica laughed and kissed his “owie”. “There, all better?”

“Much,” he grinned before growing still. “Uh…you have a guest.”

Nautica turned and blinked at the behemoth standing in the doorway to her room. His hand was raised to knock on the wall with the knuckles of his two fingers, but he stopped when she turned. Megatron’s red optics seemed to glow, even with the lights on their highest setting.

“I was coming to see if you were alright,” he rumbled. “But I see Brainstorm has beat me to it.”

Nautica smiled up at him. “Thank you for the concern, Megatron,” she said. “I appreciate it, even if I am in a better mood now.”

Megatron nodded. “I apologize for not saying something to Rodimus.”

Nautica shrugged a shoulder. “You can’t help that he’s an insensitive aft,” she soothed. “I’m sure he’ll figure it out at some point. Probably after someone beats him into the ground for touching them.”

“I wouldn’t hold out any hope for that,” Megatron smirked. “I’ll leave you two to your…game?”

“Game,” she agreed as she tried to sneakily reach for a pillow.

“Game,” Brainstorm nodded before he turned and pounced. Again.

Megatron closed the door as Nautica started squealing.


	9. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fortress Maximus has something that he needs to tell Rung.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to trans-fusion for the prompt.
> 
> Author does not own The Transformers licence. Everything is written for fun.
> 
> Character is sex-positive asexual. 
> 
> Warning: mention of traumatic violence.

Trust

Fortress Maximus stared at the screen in front of him. He was expecting a call from Rung and his insides were flipping end over end in excitement and anxiety. He had been waiting weeks for this; Rung was supposed to contact him every few weeks to keep him updated on what was going on with the ship since he left. It was mostly for small talk and to hear how his fellows were doing, but it was also just to talk to Rung and make sure that he was doing alright.

It was hard to say out loud that they were courting each other. It just felt surreal and, judging by the blush every time Max brought it up, Rung felt just as giddy and unsure about everything. They were two awkward mechs trying to piece a relationship together and it seemed to be going okay.

This time, though, he had to talk about something serious. He needed Rung to know something, something that could make or break their relationship. He couldn’t hide it from Rung, not if he wanted to have a relationship based on trust.

The screen dinged at him and he smiled as Rung’s face appeared. A smile blossomed on Rung’s face and the happy, little psychiatrist waved at him.

“Max! You’re looking good,” he greeted. “Your new office isn’t causing you too much stress?”

“No more than usual,” Max smiled. “You look good, Rung. Everyone keeping you on your toes?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Rung laughed. “It’s been a whirlwind of events here. I don’t know how half of the crew haven’t cracked under the pressure, but I’m sure it has something to do with the fact that no one has died.”

“Most likely,” he agreed with a smile. “At least you’ve been kept busy.”

“Yes,” he nodded. “I have been busy. Would you like to hear?”

Max smiled and nodded. Rung started talking, rubbing at his face and laughing. Max watched him, nodding and smiling and laughing with him. It was good to see Rung in such high spirits. It was a good sign; even if everything fell apart after this, at least he got to see Rung smile one last time.

“Rung?” he asked when Rung finished talking. “Can…I need to tell you something.”

“Okay,” Rung smiled.

“I really, really care for you,” Max started carefully. “I think…that sounds terrible, but I think I would be very happy with you for a very long time.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Rung smiled wider and fixed his glasses.

“I just…you have to know something,” he swallowed. “I…I’m not…it’s difficult.”

He was panicking. He was stuttering and rubbing at his neck. He couldn’t get his thoughts in order. He needed to tell Rung, but he was freaking out. How did he even go about explaining this? It was embarrassing and terrible and it only spoke volumes to the amount of damage he had physically and mentally.

“Deep breaths, Max,” Rung soothed. “Calm down and try again.”

Max inhaled and vented slowly. He couldn’t calm down, but he wasn’t panicking quite as much. He just had to say it and survive the fall out.

“I’m broken,” he tried again.

“Max,” Rung smiled sadly. “You don’t have to call yourself that. Your sexuality….”

“No, no not that,” Max forced a smile to his face. That was a different can of worms that he didn’t want to get into. It was bad enough he had medics during the war trying to give him injections to “regulate” his libido; he didn’t want to talk with Rung about it. Not yet. “It’s something else.”

“Something else?” Rung asked.

“I…okay,” he vented heavily. “I don’t…I don’t know what your opinion on interfacing is. I’m okay with it. I can enjoy it with the right amount of foreplay.”

“Okay?” Rung let out a soft laugh.

“That’s not the point,” Max felt himself flush. “The point is that I…I can’t interface. Not anymore. Not since…not since Garrus-9.” It was hard to admit. It was hard to talk about.

Rung’s expression changed immediately. “Max?” he asked gently.

“My…my array…it’s almost beyond repair,” he swallowed. “Even if you wanted to interface, I can’t. It hurts and I’m sorry, but it can never happen. No matter how many surgeries I have, it will never work again.” He swallowed again and offlined his optics. “I’m sorry.”

“Max,” Rung’s voice was soft. Max looked up and his spark shivered happily. Rung was smiling and had taken his glasses off so that he could see his optics. “You don’t have to apologize to me. I’m glad that you chose to share this with me. It speaks volumes for the progress you have made.”

Max swallowed and smiled. “You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” Rung asked. “You have shared something incredibly personal with me, something that took a great deal of courage to share and admit. I’m honoured that you trust me this much.” His optics softened. “Besides, if we get to the point where we want to be sexually active, we’ll talk about what we can do as an alternative.”

Max smiled wider. “I…that’s the best thing I could have hoped to happen,” he admitted. “I…thank you, Rung.” He wanted to say ‘I love you’, but he wasn’t sure if it was too early for that. It had to be.

“I’m glad,” Rung chuckled. “Now, what have you been doing on your end?”

Max chuckled before he started explaining how his month had been.


End file.
